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100 days aren't enough ...

I'm nearing the end of my mandatory 100 day break from work. I planned to accomplish so many things -- write a book, organize the house, convince my children to sleep by themselves -- and it seems that all I managed to do was compile a longer list of things that need to be accomplished.

Time is funny that way -- as soon as you get some it's gone. Because we all have responsibilities to something other than ourselves -- even narcissists aren't the center of their universes. There's the big stuff -- family and friends and pets that require our constant attention; but the smaller random things like sleeping and eating and hygiene and viruses and telemarketers are the ones that kill me.

Imagining all of the time I'd have if I didn't require sleep or bathroom breaks or food -- if I never got sick -- makes me envious of robots.

My editors used to ask me in advance of deadline how much time I was budgeting for sleep, otherwise I carried on like I really had 24 hours to complete my assignment. Perhaps it's the ADD, but I consider the requirements and functions of breathing rather inconvenient in the day-to-day business of getting stuff done.

So my physical record of accomplishments these past 100 days is lighter than I'd like it to be -- I accomplished lots of things that can't be measured on paper.

I spent most of my break bonding with a troublesome 2-year-old, who hates my singing and calls me Mamma Butthead -- Miss Ashlyn Dever. I'll miss her when I'm back at the office, but something tells me working 40 hours a week will feel more like a break than the last 100 days.

What I accomplished:

I did Lily's hair every morning, and rushed her out the door with lots of help from Grandma.

I changed I-don't-know-how-many dirty diapers -- wet and chunky.

I wrote a lot of copy that I haven't had time to read.

I fought with Jerod a lot about the right way to do things and the wrong way -- apparently my way is always the wrong way. I don't agree, but Jerod cries so loud it's easier to let him win.

I watched Gnomeo and Juliet and Tangled more times than anyone should.

Being home is hard. There is never enough silence, and something always needs doing. 100 days off with two children was more work than I bargained for.

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/AB-E-NORMAL/ I'm a neurotic artist and writer who can't find a living-wage job in my field, because literacy and creativity aren't marketable skills. I used to be a newspaper reporter until the world dumped newspapers and newspapers dumped me with a heart felt "you are a great reporter, and this has nothing to do with your performance."